


A Window to the Future Past

by suspiciousteapot



Series: Imagine Claire and Jamie ficlets [18]
Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Angst, Could Be Canon, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Marriage Difficulties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-28
Updated: 2016-09-28
Packaged: 2018-08-18 08:49:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8156254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suspiciousteapot/pseuds/suspiciousteapot
Summary: Anonymous asked: Imagine Frank, while doing some historical research stumbling upon some records/accounts of certain Laird and Lady of Lallybroch describing their lives in Scotland or Paris, and of course, their undeniable love for eacj other. Thank you!





	

**Author's Note:**

> Response to a prompt sent to imagineclaireandjamie on tumblr. In thinking about what documents would convey the desired info, the lovely gotham-ruaidh came up with the idea of a painting. My brain hopped in the plot bunny and ran...
> 
> As always, respectful comments, etc. are greatly appreciated :)

The noonday sun streamed through the window of the Harvard office of Franklin W. Randall, illuminating the room and making it impossible for him to hide from the image in front of him.

A large box sat neatly beside his chair. Eager as he had been to see what it held, he had opened it carefully; ever the historian. He could almost laugh at that eagerness now, as he sat staring at the painting a colleague from the art department had sent him, wishing he could go back and return the box, unopened.

_Damn_ his curiosity.

His eyes traced the painted wooden beams, the small table that stood behind one of the two central figures. The glass and metalware that was so clearly medical. The bookshelf to the right of the other central figure, the titles of the books discernible if one looked hard enough.

Yet as always, his eyes were drawn back to the two central figures - a woman in a dark blue dress, her light brown hair curling down a swanlike neck, her eyes turned up to smile at the man who stood by her side. The man, deep blue eyes - eyes Frank recognized - turned down to gaze loving back at the woman, his familiar ginger hair set aflame by the rays from the window behind them.

So he had lived then, James Fraser. He’d lived, and Claire had likely gone back as soon as she’d found out. Of course she had. The knowledge sat heavily in his heart. He felt that he’d lost her as soon as he’d found her again, but some small part of him always hoped she would truly come back. That she could love him again. But clearly the more cynical voice that whispered to him late at night that back or no, her heart belonged to _that Scot_  was the one speaking the truth. He held the evidence of that in his hands.

The artist had perfectly captured the look Claire once bestowed on him, immortally directed towards another. James Fraser. She looked at him as though he the only thing that truly existed, just as he looked at her. Just as Frank looked at had looked at her since the day they met. As he now looked at her from the outside, her gaze directed right through him to the man she wished he was.

He tamped down the pain with academic questions, wondering where exactly they were, and when was this painted. Claire’s looks were always deceiving, but her hair was considerably lighter, many streaks had gone grey. Older than middle-aged then, probably. But was that when she returned to _him_? He  tore his eyes away from theirs to search the canvas for a date. He found it, in small numbers at the bottom right - 1778 - but it was the lettering above them that shook him to the core.

The painting was signed ‘Brianna E. R. F. Mac.’

He stared blankly at the name. It couldn’t be. Not his daughter.

His eyes fell back to his colleague’s letter “…painted in a rather unusual style. I would have sworn it came from our time had it not been scientifically placed in the 18th century”

_No._  Claire had promised, she’d promised not to tell Bree, not to take her… but if she found out Fraser was alive…

Frank’s breath came short, his office seeming to become fuzzy and distant around him. He put the painting down and slid to the floor, pressing a hand to his eyes. He couldn’t bare losing Bree. Surely Claire would know that. She’d promised. _She also promised to love and cherish, forever till death do you part_ , reminded the cynical voice.

Rage washed over his panic of Claire taking his daughter _Over my dead body you will._

A sudden sorrow replaced his short-lived rage. Perhaps it would be over his dead body. Claire had only promised not to tell Bree of Fraser for as long as Frank himself still lived.

He had no way of talking to Claire about it. Even if she did talk, he’d have to tell her that Fraser didn’t die in blasted Culloden, and that might just ensure her return to him, and Bree’s by extension.

He grappled with the problem, unsure of how to proceed, until the sun stole the light from the painted strands of red and those damned whisky eyes.

Whisky, that sounded good right about now.

_A toast to you, my love._ Claire eyes mocked him silently.

As Frank drank, an odd sort of peace settled over him, even as night settled over his office. _So be it. They return. Bree knows I’m her father. She loves me. It’ll be many years yet before they return._  He pushed away any thought that the painting was itself done long after their return, unable to handle the possibility of the loss that future would suggest.

Another fear bubbled up in him. How would Brianna cope in such rough times? How would she protect herself when she would be surrounded by the multitude of threats endemic to that time? A sense of purpose welled up in him even as the question formed. He would teach her. If she went back, so be it, she wouldn’t return unprepared, and not without taking part of him with her.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
